it’s not about you

On Barack and Hillary:

But what worries me is that he is seen as unifying by his race while she is seen as divisive by her sex.

What worries me is that she is accused of “playing the gender card” when citing the old boys’ club, while he is seen as unifying by citing civil rights confrontations.

What worries me is that male Iowa voters were seen as gender-free when supporting their own, while female voters were seen as biased if they did and disloyal if they didn’t.

What worries me is that reporters ignore Mr. Obama’s dependence on the old — for instance, the frequent campaign comparisons to John F. Kennedy — while not challenging the slander that her progressive policies are part of the Washington status quo.

What worries me is that some women, perhaps especially younger ones, hope to deny or escape the sexual caste system; thus Iowa women over 50 and 60, who disproportionately supported Senator Clinton, proved once again that women are the one group that grows more radical with age.

Gloria Steinem on why “Woman Are Never Front-Runners” via the New York Times.

So why is the sex barrier not taken as seriously as the racial one? The reasons are as pervasive as the air we breathe: because sexism is still confused with nature as racism once was; because anything that affects males is seen as more serious than anything that affects “only” the female half of the human race; because children are still raised mostly by women (to put it mildly) so men especially tend to feel they are regressing to childhood when dealing with a powerful woman; because racism stereotyped black men as more “masculine” for so long that some white men find their presence to be masculinity-affirming (as long as there aren’t too many of them); and because there is still no “right” way to be a woman in public power without being considered a you-know-what.

Yesterday evening, right before Joshua got home, I had nursed Killian on the couch, and when he was done, he got down and toddled off toward the kids’ room where Judah was playing. I took a moment to drop and close all the mini-blinds in the two front rooms and then followed him back. Guess where he was when I got there?

IN THE TOP BUNK. PLAYING WITH JUDAH.

I totally freaked out. I asked Judah if he got up there by himself and she said no, that she had HELPED him! She knows he’s not allowed to climb the ladder and usually, she lets me know if he’s ever making a break for it. We don’t even allow her to be in the top bunk when he’s around so he won’t want up there as well and be tempted to try. I’m wondering if she went up behind him or pulled him up to the bunk once she was already up (freaky thought for both of them, that way), though I don’t think I can bring myself to ask. I made them both get down and then Judah and I had a talk about how dangerous it is for him to be up there and that if he fell he could get seriously hurt, and that he could even die. To make it worse, the entire floor was strewn with every block they own. That’s not exactly a soft landing pad.

Scary!

We have got to be vigilant with that one, Killian. During the Christmas break, I went to get a haircut and while I was gone, with our entire family at our house, Killian dragged a dining chair over to the Christmas tree, got on it, leaned over to mess with the tree and fell headfirst through the tree to the floor. Once, strapped into his booster seat in the kitchen, while I was cooking dinner, Judah opened the fridge to get something out, and Killian grabbed the handle. When Judah closed the fridge, Killian refused to let go of the handle, and fell over, in his booster in the chair, sideways. Thankfully, his arm that was holding the handle, dragged down the side of the fridge, and in doing so, prevented his head from smacking the floor. We have since put his booster into a sturdier chair.

He’s the climber, and the getting-into-everything boy, the one who sticks his hands in the toilet and tries to breathe his bathwater and climbs on the windows and the bookcase and the dresser and the coffee table and the open dishwasher and stands on the rocking chair and sticks his fingers in the outlets and things in his mouth and boy are we ever in trouble with that one.

Every day that goes by that doesn’t send us to the ER, I’m going to consider a good day.

link

beautiful.

Don’t bleach the kitchen counters while wearing your favorite top.

Whoever said, “You can sleep when you’re dead,” obviously didn’t need the sleep they weren’t getting.

They must not have had children.

Ebay is starting to look good.

Lots of things have been happening in the news in San Francisco lately. Between Ed Jew’s problems, Gavin Newsom’s and Chris Daly’s verbal fisticuffs, and the resurgence of gang activity in the Mission (Dad, you should stop reading right now), it’s been a busy month. Oh, and it’s Pride, too.

Ed Jew:
Dude, seriously? Please, step down. Step down, step down, step down. If you’re not completely corrupt, then you’re just stupid. Either way, you shouldn’t be a leader of our city and so you’ve got to go.

And, Ed, may I offer you a tip? If you’re trying to prove you live in the Sunset, don’t turn yourself in in Burlingame, where your other house is. Doofus.

Chris Daly:
Dude! Your credibility? Totally SHOT. You want people to take you seriously and have respect for you? Then show it for others. This is not junior high (although it IS city politics, you could very well make that argument…). You want to accuse Newsom of using cocaine? Then do it in the proper venue. All you’re doing is making yourself look like a total ass. And bring some proof to the table. By the way, using people who claim to have done coke with the mayor isn’t exactly credible - they’re cokeheads for cryin’ out loud.

And that Gavin? Aren’t you a damn fine-looking mayor? Except for that episode last year when you decided to “try something new.” Please. Keep the hair gel. (My friend Robin said that when news of Gavin’s affair came out, a collective sigh of disappointment could be heard throughout the Castro. Too funny.)

My ‘hood:
We know. We’ve got problems. I do, in fact, take the kids to the park where the shooting occurred. I don’t let Killian fly colors or play soccer with the big boys, so we’re usually okay. And I impose a strict 2 a.m. curfew on Judah - if she’s not in the door by then, I take away her Polly Pockets. But this, this is not the solution. The Mission has its problems, but there are so many good things about it as well, and I’m not just talking about learning the art of poop-dodging while taking a stroll, though that IS a handy skill.

We have a huge mix of diversity here, and cultural backgrounds are only the jumping-off point. There are very poor people who live here alongside very rich people. Families live next to single hipsters, nannies next to financial district suits. There’s a retirement facility, a community music center, a group of self-professed Satanists (true!), a community activist center, and park, all on my block. There’s tons of shops, restaurants, bars, clubs, parks, a vibrant arts community, and a plethora of public transportation. We’re centrally-located, and I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, “It’s always sunny in the Mission.” And, AND, we have Ritual and Tartine. I mean, come on. I love my neighborhood. And I’m going to be sad to leave it. Sniff, sniff.

I get asked if I’m scared to live in my neighborhood. I’ve read places online where people are actually encouraged not to explore the Mission while visiting San Francisco because it’s “not safe.” MOST of the shootings occur at night, but there are some during the day. MOST of the violence is targeted and specific - it’s extremely rare to be a random target of violent crime. And truthfully, your odds are pretty good - I mean it’s mostly in suburban-rural areas where someone goes totally ape-shit and does something crazy. I try to avoid wearing gang colors and I leave my grill at home (I only bring it out for those special occasions).

The Bright Spot:
At least there’s some justice after all in this world.

1. Since Jill’s comment, I have heard the phrase “sour grapes” not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES this week and I think there’s a conspiracy afoot (and Jill, we need to all hang out, at least once, before you pop).

2. My computer. OH MY GOD. The shift key has lost its mind. And is now removed from my keyboard. Using the other shift key is a total pain in the ass.

3. My power cord has decided it only wants to work in ONE position. What is WITH my laptop???

4. My son has learned the art of SCREAMING HIS BLOODY HEAD OFF. If this were a podcast, you would get an aural taste. COUNT YOURSELF AMONG THE BLESSED THAT IT’S NOT.

5. Two nights ago, we didn’t get any sleep due to above-mentioned number four, and his two teeth that popped through this week. I woke up after said sleep-deprived night and got head-butted right smack in the face. I think he broke my nose, but I’m not real sure. It hurts like hell. And so do my front four teeth (his front four have all come in in the past three weeks - baby Tylenol is his friend - so is the rum. And the whiskey). Not enough Advil for me in the world, my friends. My dentist is going to love this.

6. We’re moving. We found a flat (in our price range) in the Outer Richmond on 30th Ave. A half block from Golden Gate Park. Two bedrooms, one and a half bath, formal dining, living room with a working fireplace, kitchen with a gas stove, disposal and dishwasher, all hardwoods, and tile in the kitchen, parking garage, storage unit, W/D hookups, and a YARD. With real grass. And patio space. Did I mention it was a half-block from Golden Gate Park?? We move middle of July. i hear that hiring movers is worth every penny. I think we’re gonna go that route. Good Lord, I'’m tired of moving. This will be our seventh move in five years of marriage (July 6th - woot!!). And we have our own mailbox to boot.

7. We’ve been going to Mission Bay Community Church. And we’re going to join. And I’m going to be on the steering committee (I think). Good Lord, what have we done?? Does this mean we’re Presbyterian now?? Tracey and Lee Ann should be getting a good kick out of this.

8. MBCC is reading the Bible in 90 days. I’m so way behind. I’m somewhere in Exodus reading about a bunch of whiny Israelites, while everyone else in on their way to Judges or Ruth or something. And it’s good. It’s good practice/exercise/discipline.

9. Yeah, so that’s all I’ve got for now. I’m really busy. Hoping to post more often, sooner than later. I have lots of thoughts on lots of things. Really?, you say; you don’t say?, you say.

Ciao.

I read a Washington Post article this morning that got me thinking. Here’s a quote:

A 2006 University of Maryland study on chat rooms found that female participants received 25 times as many sexually explicit and malicious messages as males.

And another:

Joan Walsh, editor in chief of the online magazine Salon, said that since the letters section of her site was automated a year and a half ago, “it’s been hard to ignore that the criticisms of women writers are much more brutal and vicious than those about men.”

What concerns me most is whether or not police departments will take these types of threats seriously or whether they will brush them off as trivial. I’m not here to present a case for the validity of the Internet as a form of real community and communication. If you’re a skeptic, nothing I say will convince you anyway. I know my husband makes a living - a very GOOD living, as a matter of fact - by helping create content for this virtual world. That makes it real enough. He jokes that he makes a living by creating things that don’t tangibly exist.

A death threat, a threat to strangle, kill, rape and molest on the Internet is just as real as a threat in the physical world and should be taken as such. It is sad and a shame that due to the anonymity of the online forum that people can get away with thinking it is okay to make such threats, or pass them off as jokes, that women’s voices are being silenced. That they are being introverted because that are so afraid of what someone might do to them, or say they will do to them, if they continue to speak their mind. And that is NOT okay.

Generally, men don’t face this problem. If a man speaks his mind, it’s accepted as a part of life. But when a woman speaks her mind, nay, dares to speak her mind, she is labeled - “outspoken,” “opinionated,” “masculine,” “bossy,” “bitch” - and must deal with consequences, threats, and punishments, simply for being who she is. I’m sick of it. I’m tired of it. I want to see change taking place.

As women, we can speak up against this, and I think we should. At the same time, I don’t fault the women who have retreated and pulled away - no one else can make a decision for another about how much risk they are willing to accept. I’m proud and privileged to be in global community with both men and women who value women’s voices and interactions and stand in solidarity to help all of our voices to be heard.

I’m getting a little tired of hearing people nowadays talk about the “Emergent church,” when what they really mean is the “emerging church.” There’s a big huge difference, and the nuance seems lost on the masses.

Emergent is a BRAND, people, not a descriptive. Get it right. It’s like in Texas, where we call all sodas, “Coke.” As in:

“You thirsty?”

“Yeah.”

“You want a Coke?”

“Sure.”

What kind of Coke do you want?”

“A Dr. Pepper.”

Or it’s like squares and rectangles: all squares are rectangles but not all rectangles are squares. All Emergent churches are emerging, but not all emerging churches are Emergent. The capitalization should be the first clue.

Emergent is an organization (or a movement, or a conversation, or whatever), and while many emerging churches and people involved or identifying with the emerging church would find affinity with this organization, many would not and many would have no clue what it even is.

This must be fixed. It’s annoying the crap out of me.

…is probably the most surreal thing I’ll ever write here. Or maybe anywhere.

But it’s true. He proposed to his girlfriend (surreal thing number two) on Valentine’s Day (number two and a half) and he told all us kids this past Sunday that they will be getting married on March 31st.

I was in Texas for the Southwestern Photojournalism Conference at Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary, sponsored by Christians in Photojournalism this past weekend. That’s a mouthful. I’ve been off and on since college and have attended five or six conferences. Last year, I didn’t go because that was the weekend we moved to California.

Sunday, before I had to get to the airport to catch my flight, Dad, Kyle, Lacey, Jacob, Sharyl, Katie, Josh, Killian, Wiff, Jeanette and I all met at Texas Land and Cattle near the airport for a mid-afternoon meal. That’s where he told us the date they had set. So I got back from Texas on Sunday and booked my next trip out there next month. Judah’s going to be a flower girl.

Everyone wants to know how I’m doing and simply: I’m happy for my dad that he’s found someone to love and to love him in return. I want him to be happy - I want him to have companionship (though I did offer to buy him a dog) and to have love and all of those things. God knows he deserves it. Yes, I have mixed feelings, of course I do. It would be weirder if I didn’t. It’s good and happy and hard and raw and all of that, and really. Those emotions are mine and I don’t really want to share all of them, if everyone doesn’t mind. I need to feel right now, not process. My feelings and emotions are mine to feel and they’re intensely personal and while I appreciate the love and care from everyone, I just don’t want to hash this out with every person who asks.

I want to get through April 25 this year and make it out of this decade in one emotional and spiritual piece. So I don’t in ANY way mean to be rude, but if I don’t want to talk about it, please respect that. I don’t even have everything sorted out. Yet. Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. I don’t know.

Everyone is asking me what I’m thinking and how I’m doing, and you know what? I wish I didn’t have to fucking ask myself that, because what I WISH, what I really WISH, is that my mom was still alive and none of this would even be a fucking issue. So take a tablespoon full of that with a tablespoonful of happiness for my dad, swallow it down, and there you go. Is your stomach feeling funky, too? Thought so.

(excuse the language. sorry ’bout that, Dad.)